The Last Entry
by skydivided
Summary: Beka has the chance to write one final journal entry before she passes to the Peaceful Realms. Oneshot.


I swore long ago that I was to quit writing a personal journal, and more or less, all these years, I've kept my word. True, I still wrote reports for Sergeant Ahuda, and then, much later, I wrote up summaries of those reports handed to me, but for the most part, I've avoided setting pen to paper unless I had to, for I've been busy living. And what a life it has been, with my man and my children and my friends by my side, all these years! I never did figure I'd reach such an age, living how Farmer and I did. Oh, I took my share of lumps, but it wasn't the blow to the head that sent me where I am today, one foot in and one foot out of the mortal realm. Truth be told, it's just old age.

Still, that's not a bad way to go, is it? I've got my family by me, Nilo, my boy and girls, even my great-granddaughter! And of course, the puppies, the four legged ones that is. Achoo proved to be a most prodigious mot in the end, and even after my last days as a Provost's Dog – though they don't like being called that much anymore, I must remember – the recruits would find me, asking me for a fine scenthound of their own. Those I thought could do the job justice got them. Achoo's gift for sniffing out rats bred true for most of her pups, and those that didn't found places with Rosto and his friends, or Phelan or Tansy. Some even went to Dale Rowan, when him and his third wife came calling on me and Farmer.

Farmer's Gift, well, that didn't breed true, nor did mine. Our children had sommat very strange indeed. Farmer called it the Sight, and I'll admit it made me feel that much better, knowing that it wasn't just me with children who could spot out magics or tell truth from lies. I was in a panic with our first, when she began to see things she shouldn't, that Farmer would think I'd been with another man; some mages are like that, that antsy when their get doesn't show magic the same way they do. Not my Farmer, of course. I should have known better! He was that excited when little Mattea told him what she could do.

"Stands to reason, my love." He'd told me. "Your gift is so strange, and mine is odd too, when it comes down to it. We were destined to make something truly extraordinary." Then he squeezed me until I couldn't help but giggle. Oh, but I've missed my man these past three years. It was his heart that got him, the healers said. He couldn't even tell me goodbye, so quick was he gone. Still, he'll be waiting for me, I know that much. I'll see him soon.

I don't want you to think that my life has been all sunshine since last I wrote though. I've seen some truly awful things. I've seen things I'd hoped would never come true. Murders, beheadings, plots for treason and colemongering and rapes. What sticks in my head most, though was the day Ahuda, her hair gray, her voice breaking, told us that no more mots would be allowed to register for puppy training, then promptly resigned. Sabine came to visit me that night, and we broke my rule and drank most of my cellar, only occasionally weeping. The order had gone out for page training too – from now on, it was to be only men. It wasn't our King Gareth, of course, it was his poxy counsel of nobles. They'd overruled him at last, after years upon years of fighting. Still, we stayed on. Eventually my knees claimed me, and I stepped down from the streets and moved into the Kennel, sitting on Ahuda's old platform, barking out orders at the puppies. Goodwin went to the peaceful realms that year, and as time went on, I noticed the lads I trained were paying less and less heed to my commands. Finally, the day came when I barked at them – fooling around, they were, swatting each other with batons when they thought I couldn't see – I told them to run laps as punishment, and to a man, they refused.

"Why should we take orders from a mot who doesn't know her place?" One sarden fool sneered. I looked to the senior dogs in the kennel, hoping for help. None stepped forward. I was, I realized, the last woman left.

The next day, I handed in my resignation. I didn't need the coin, anymore, and I couldn't stand what it had come to. I handed my Lord Gershom's successor, Ferrick of Stone Mountain, my polished gold badge. He looked at me all sorrowful-like.

"You were one of the good ones." He told me. "Keep the faith, Beka Cooper. It won't be this way forever. Time has a way of shifting all things, and someday, your deeds will remind the people of Tortall of how we are all meant to be." He's a good man, is Ferrick of Stone Mountain, even if he's young for a Lord Provost. He has one of Achoo's grandpups now, a handsome black-and-tan lad, and many's the noble who wants that dog for stud. I'm glad I chose him.

That night, everyone who was left threw a grand celebration at the Dancing Dove. Rosto had stepped down by then, but he was welcome at the Court of the Rogue since he'd done so on purpose, and the new Rogue, Lenora Tanner, was a friend too. Phelan, Erskin, Kora and Aniki, Farmer and Mattea and my second eldest, Nestor were there – his namesake had taken a poison arrow three years back, but Amber had moved to Corus since and she came in his stead, as gorgeous as always, Tansy and her children and grandchildren, and of course, Sabine, who was nearing eighty. We had a grand time, making the most of it, cursing the cult of the Gentle Mother and carousing, playing games and showing off the tricks the four-legged dogs had learned. There was even a (rather rude) puppet show. Things were in the swing of it when the door opened and a hooded stranger entered. The guards began their usual routine when he pulled down his hood, and then they leapt back like they'd been burned. There, in the door of the Court of the Rogue, was King Gareth.

We all scrambled to bow, of course, but he ignored that, and strode purposefully through the crowd to me. Just like when he was a lad, he hugged me 'round the neck until I had to respond. "I am so sorry, Beka." He whispered in my ear. "I am so, so sorry that I could not fix this in time."

"Your Majesty, you… you shouldn't be here." I stammered. "Here, apologizing to the likes of me. You're our king!" Mithros, I sounded a right looby. The king finally released me as Farmer laid a hand on my shoulder.

"Let him speak, Beka." He murmured. The king did not speak, though. He picked up a tankard of ale, hoisted it, then drained it. We all stared in awe. When he was done, he raised the tankard and bellowed, in a general's leather-lunged voice,

"To the Mastiff of Tortall! To the woman who saved us all more than we can count, and asked for nothing from her country more than a place with the Lower City dogs! We may have failed her, but we never will forget her! To Beka Cooper! To the Mastiff!" My mouth dropped open and I stood there like a fool as Rogue and Guardsman and mage and Knight alike repeated the king's final words and drained their own glasses. For that night, he was just Gareth, and he drank and swore and sang and laughed just like the rest of us. Gods above, I never will forget how kind my friends were to me as my world ended.

After that, I spent some time in solitude, well, as alone as one can get in the Lower City. Sabine died in battle in Scanra, far from home and friends. I watched my grandchildren and the hounds, read books with Farmer, fed my pigeons and my dust-spinners, and tended my garden, where a thousand tiny roses no larger than my pinky nail were in perpetual bloom. Every now and then, I'd pass something particularly important from my birdies along to my Lord of Stone Mountain, but mostly I was done with dogging. Then Farmer passed along, then Rosto did as well. He never did get that tumble, though not for lack of trying. And now here I am, poised to do the same.

In truth, I've been dead for some hours now. I felt my breath catch and my body quake, and I rose out of it. Finally, I knew what those who rode my pigeons felt like, just a scrap of nothing, buffeted by the air. But then, I heard His voice.

"Beka. I've been waiting for you. " I felt the warm hug, feeling just as shocked as when Gareth had scooped me up in his arms. The God, my God who some call Black, was before me. And who was that, twining around his legs like he owned the God?

"Pounce!" I gasped, feeling the familiar warm weight jump up into my outstretched arms. Not my body's arms, those were still on the bed. This was something else.

"Hush, Beka." Pounce said, sometime later, as I wept, laughing into his soft fur. "The God has come to grant you a gift." At that, I looked up, surprised at how fluidly I moved. Gods, I was young again! The ache in my neck and my hips were gone. All my aches were gone and the hands I held Pounce in were unwrinkled, if a bit transparent.

"Beka." My patron said. "You have always been my most faithful servant, although I never asked if you would take on that responsibility. Now I have a boon to grant you, if you'd like it. There are many waiting for you in my Realms, but they've agreed to wait just a tiny bit longer if you'd like." He pressed a journal, this journal into my hands. Transparent or not, they took them, though Pounce had to move a bit, grumbling. "You have until the sun rises. Then Mattea will find your body." He told me. "Write what you wish, Beka, and it will be found and shared."

So here I am, writing as instructed. It's been a bit tricky with my arms only half there, my body still laid out on the bed, but I've done my best so that any ancestor reading might have the full story. Mattea, Nestor, Clarence, I love you all, and little Pippa too. You are to continue doing what you're doing, and questioning what you're told by people who believe themselves to be better than you. Okha, old friend, I will see you soon, and your husband and I will wait for you with open arms. For the rest of you, remember. A female dog saved the realm. I would not say it then, but I'll say it now. You need us, not just as mothers and daughters, but as _people_. I can see now, with one foot on the other side, how out of balance we are falling. Unless we take action, someday all Tortall will pay. Oh, I must go. I can hear my man bellowing in that impatient way he has. I love you all. Make things right, if you can.

-Beka

P.S. While I've been writing, Pounce has been telling me of what is to come. I can't ruin any surprises, but I believe this will be found someday by the person in question, so Aly: I am so proud of you.


End file.
